


Big and Loud

by WhimsicalEthnographies



Series: Up Came the Sun [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: But he's always had a heart, F/M, Gen, Gratuitous use of nicknames to annoy a teenager, Iron dad and Spider son, May Parker is a Saint, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony teases Peter about MJ, nobody dies everybody lives, of course Peter watches Bake Off, the Avengers are animals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-26 11:30:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15662361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhimsicalEthnographies/pseuds/WhimsicalEthnographies
Summary: “It’s so loud.”“Like I said, it’s gonna be, half-pint.”“Heh,” Peter huffs a sad laugh.  “But I mean everything.  Here.  Not just them.”“Hmmmm,” Tony stops his fiddling--he wasn’t actually doing anything anyway, just finding something to occupy his hands--and waits.  He is hoping Peter will say more, but he doesn’t want to push, and wouldn’t know how even if he did.  “I know we have to talk about this, but I have no fucking idea how to.”





	Big and Loud

**Author's Note:**

> So I fucked up Peter's birthday date in the last one because I apparently suck at the Google, but whatevs.
> 
> Not ABSOLUTELY necessary to read the first in this series, but it'll help.
> 
> Tony's POV this time.
> 
> If you don't mind a blog that consists of shitposting, misunderstanding the memes all the kids talk about today, Johnlock conspiracies, and occasional MCU screaming follow me on the tumblr dot com [whimsicalethnographies](http://whimsicalethnographies.tumblr.com/)

Tony lays back on the creeper and slides under the Roadster. It’s new, well, old, but a new old piece of shit he’d bought from some hillbilly after his home in Malibu was destroyed five years earlier. Nine years. He doesn’t even know anymore, and he secretly hated that house. And most of the art Pepper bought for it, even if he’ll never tell her.

Peter’s birthday party is winding down upstairs; May had gone to bed relatively early and Happy is driving Ned and MJ back to the city (he knows both their names, obviously, but it’s so fun getting a rise out of the kid). It’d been a loud, boisterous day of overpowered man-children and video games and Thor challenging everyone to try and lift his fancy new ax (Peter hadn’t tried but Tony would put his entire fortune on that kid being more worthy than any of them). Tony had forgotten how much space Thor took up, and not just physically. And he’d brought a fucking cat with him. Since when did Thor like cats? The animal just spent all day sitting on the back of the common room couch, watching everybody with wide green eyes. It gives Tony the creeps.

May’s cake had actually been salvageable ( _“she used a box, Mr. Stark”)_ , and the three teenagers had sucked down Pepper’s catering like a trio of mouthy meme-quoting shop vacs. If Tony never hears “mmmm whatcha say” again he’ll die a happy man. Thank whatever gods that were actually on their side that T’Challa had dragged Shuri back to Wakanda a week ago; four brilliant heathens would have been too many in his fragile state.

All in all, it was a successful party, even if everyone’s smiles were a bit strained, including Peter’s. He’d been happy with his friends, but Tony knew it was a rare moment of respite. Recovery was going to be a long road, and they’d barely even started. 

When Tony left to slink off to the garage for some reprieve, Peter had been sandwiched between Nat and Barnes, eyes wide and enraptured as the jabs and embarrassing stories flowed back and forth between his childhood heroes. Tony is still more than a little wary of Barnes, but Nat had quickly become very protective of the kid, and Tony knows Peter had been glad when he found the man before being torn back out of that dark, lonely world, so he tamped the feeling down. The whole team adored him, of course (even if Sam pretended not to). It was hard not to love the kid, no matter how much Tony had tried in the beginning. He was as earnest and excitable as a golden retriever puppy. In the aftermath of everything that had happened, everything they remembered, the team needed someone like Peter.

 _Team_. They’d been a team again, and Tony will be forever grateful for them, and to them, for helping right his world. But they were all tired, and damaged, and the pieces weren’t quite fitting together again. At least Tony wasn’t. He’d plastered on a fake smile for the kid and May, but there were too many people and too much noise. More than once he’d had to run and hide in the bathroom to talk himself out of an attack and to remind himself that they were all there, together, and that nobody would need to use any of the weapons they all surely had stowed on their persons somewhere.

But about a few hours in, after May brought out the cake and Clint had smashed a piece into Steve’s face and the screams that followed, Tony felt an overwhelming urge to kick them all out. Or grab Pepper and May and Rhodey and the kids and retreat to his suite, to continue celebrating as the makeshift family that his brain had conjured up, even if it decidedly wasn’t his. They’d had time alone since everything was righted, quiet breakfasts and movies, but Tony didn’t feel like sharing any of them yet. Not Pepper, certainly not Peter, not even May. Rhodey could hold his own but he still wanted to keep him close. The kid’s friends were one thing, an extension of Peter himself, but everyone else? Fuck that. The four years of hell they spent together hadn’t completely sealed the cracks; they were back to moving in tandem but still weren’t quite the family they used to be. Even Happy seemed on edge, eyeing Tony a few times throughout the day, as if to say _“I can grab them, and we can run. Let me know boss.”_

“Fuck,” Tony mutters under his breath, his eyes burning. This is Peter’s party, the group had gathered together for him. And Tony had no right to take the kid out of there as if it was his decision to make. He had no right to claim him to begin with, and certainly has no right to hang on now that he’s back. He’d called himself his _old man_ yesterday, as if Tony could ever replace Peter’s father, or his Uncle. It’s not that he wants to, he’d never want to overshadow the men who’d raised such a perfect kid. Thank God the kid didn’t seem to hear. But he wants him. It had hit him on Titan that he didn’t need to convince Pepper to let him be a father, because for all intents and purposes he’d already made himself one. And the pain of realizing it was sharp and all consuming, worse than shrapnel in his heart or a nano-tech blade through his abdomen. 

That didn’t change the fact that he’d never asked Peter about it. How does one even ask that? _“Hey kid, I’m pretty broken inside and my own father was shit, but you’re one of the few things in my life that brings me joy, so you wanna be my sorta son?”_ Tony didn’t deserve to have that. He didn’t deserve to be his mentor, or even his friend. The kid would do well to stay as far away from Tony as possible, even if Tony knew that for all his brilliance, he was too dumb to do that.

Once his jaw had cracked one too many times from grinding his teeth, and after the third time Pepper found him in the bathroom and willed him to take deep breaths with her, he’d snuck out of the common room and run to the garage. Get away from some of the noise, have a good sulk, and possibly dissociate in peace. He is absolutely not feeling better down here alone, but better to wallow in self-loathing and second guesses by himself than run the risk of ruining Peter’s birthday. Tony was good at ruining things. He blinks rapidly as the car above him blurs. He’s a mess, how does he help the kid if he can’t get himself together?

Tony hears the door hiss open and immediately clears his throat and wipes his eyes on his shirt. He should have known Pepper would search him out before heading up to bed. She’d been his bedrock, his North Star, reminding him when he retreated into himself and a bottle of what he was struggling for. And every time they failed, every time they fell and ended up back at the beginning, she was there. Of course she’d come find him now.

Bare feet pad across the garage floor towards the old Roadster. “Mr. Stark?”

 _Shit._ The wrench he was managing to hold weakly in his left hand slips out and clatters to the concrete floor, the sound echoing throughout the garage. 

“H-hey kid,” Tony clears his throat again, rolling out from under the car. “Party over?” He tries to sound as nonchalant as possible, to try and hide the fact that he was essentially crying by himself under an old pile of metal.

“No, they’re still all up there,” Peter slouches over and drops to the floor beside the creeper, leaning back against the body of the car. He doesn’t say anything further, and Tony knows that if he’s going to have the balls to insert himself into Peter’s life as a father-figure, they have to get this communication thing down, and it’s his responsibility to take the initiative.

“Then what are you doing down here, hot shot?” Tony rolls himself back under the chassis. 

“Sometimes I wonder how many things that aren’t my actual name you have in there,” there’s no malice in his statement, but he sighs and lightly thumps the back of his head against the car.

“A million, champ,” Tony reaches out from under the car. “Hand me that half-inch. And you didn’t answer my question. You’re the guest of honor, after all.”

“It was loud,” Peter places the ½ inch socket wrench Tony’s outstretched hand.

“You gonna be an Avenger, you better get used to ‘loud,’ sports fan.”

Peter chuckles. “I hate you.”

“Then why are you down here with me?”

“Why’d you come down here?”

“Because it was loud,” Tony mindlessly tightens a bolt he’s not even sure needs tightening. 

“Exactly,” Peter sighs again. “Are they always like that?”

“Usually worse. Quarter inch,” Tony reaches out again, and a wrench is set in his hand. It hurts, his arm is nowhere near healed and should probably still be bound to his side, but he wants to give Peter something to do. “They’re not quite at full capacity yet. In about a week I’m going to have to go back to the city for some Goddamned peace and quiet. Shit.” Tony over-tightens a bolt and hears the distinctive _crack_ of it breaking.

“It’s _so_ loud.” 

“Like I said, it’s gonna be, half-pint.”

“Heh,” Peter huffs a sad laugh. “But I mean everything. Here. Not just them.”

“Hmmmm,” Tony stops his fiddling--he wasn’t actually doing anything anyway, just finding something to occupy his hands--and waits. He is hoping Peter will say more, but he doesn’t want to push, and wouldn’t know how even if he did. _“I know we have to talk about this, but I have no fucking idea how to.”_

“Like, after I got bit, I was sick for awhile,” Peter shifts against the car, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Then after, every was so bright and loud.”

“‘Dialed to eleven,’” Tony remembers what the kid told him back in his bedroom in Queens. It felt like a lifetime ago, when he’d dragged this poor boy into the mess of his life.

“Yeah,” Peter chuckles again. “‘Too much input.’” Tony watches him shift again against the car. “It’s like that again. Like I never figured out how to control it and have to figure it out all over again.”

“Well,” Tony desperately wants to roll out from under the car, but he has a feeling the only reason why Peter is talking to him is because he can’t see his face. “We can work on that. I’m sure I can figure out some glasses and earphones, and you can always put on your suit. The new one will be better than the other two, I--”

“It’s not just my eyes and ears, Mr. Stark,” Peter interrupts. “It’s everything. Everyone. Even the floor is too hard. When I was there,” his voice cracks a bit, and Tony flinches. “It was like the volume of everything was turned down. It was dark and quiet. Even the people were turned down.”

“And now it’s all too loud.”

“And too big,” Peter picks at something on the car door and pulls his knees up to his chest. Tony wonders if his bare feet are cold against the concrete floor. “Even I feel too big. Like my organs don’t fit inside me. Like I wouldn’t fit inside my suit.”

“Is that why you haven’t tried screwing with it, yet?”

“Yeah,” Peter sighs. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, Mr. Stark. I do, I just...can’t yet.”

“No worries, kid. Lord knows I’ve been there,” Tony chooses his next words carefully as he rolls himself out from under the car. “Everything that happened...well, everyone is different, Peter. You’ll get there.” Tony looks up and watches as he fingers the metal band on his left wrist. “Or not. Whichever, we’ll figure it out as we go.”

“Yeah,” Peter huffs as if he doesn’t quite believe it, looking at some spot on the far wall. “What book did you read that in?”

“Hey, I’m trying to make a moment here, you little shit,” Tony smacks his calf. “Be a good role model, ear to listen, shoulder to cry on, mentor to--”

“I know, Mr. Stark, I’m sor--”

“Nuh uh, what did I say about that?” Tony manages to sit up on the creeper without leaning on his left arm; out of the corner of his eye he sees Peter smirk a bit. Good. “They still raging up there?” The garage isn’t quite sound proof. He can’t hear anything, but he’s sure Peter can.

“Dr. Banner is talking about how the Hulk fought a giant wolf, or something.”

“Shame. I could go for a piece of cake.”

“I brought some down,” Peter jerks his head towards the counter next to the door.

“Ah, I knew there was a reason I kept you around,” Tony hauls himself off the floor, steadying himself on the side of the car. God, he’s starting to feel old. His left arm is starting to burn in earnest; he knows he’s going to need the sling tomorrow. “Up.”

Peter takes Tony’s outstretched hand and lets him pull him off the floor, even though Tony knows he doesn’t have the aches and pains the rest of them do, not the physical ones anyway. The kids allows him to throw and arm around his shoulder and leans into him as they walk over the the kitchenette.

“Aren’t your spider-toes cold?”

“Huh?”

“‘ _Huh._ ’” Tony mimics him, leaving him at the counter and heading over to the glass fridge. “You’re not wearing any socks.”

“Oh. I like my toes free. And I like feeling stuck to the floor.”

“Got it,” Tony rolls his eyes, but he’s pretty sure he hears what the kid is saying: _It feels real this way._ He pulls a beer and a Pepsi out of the fridge. Peter eyes his bottle. “What?”

“May let me have one earlier.”

“Then you’ve used up your daily allotment already,” he pushes the Pepsi into Peter’s chest and picks up one of the plates. He walks over to the leather couch in the corner and plops down. Peter picks up his own piece of cake and makes his way over, sitting down. Tony kicks his feet up on the coffee table and smirks when the kid immediately mimics him. 

They eat in silence for a few minutes. Tony taps one of his bare feet with his sneaker when he’s finished his cake. “Not bad. Edible at least.”

“Like I said, she used a box.”

“She should use them more often.”

“Yeah,” Peter sets his empty plate on the table and yawns.

“Tired?” Tony throws his arm around his shoulders as he sits back into the couch. Not smart; that hurt.

“Yeah,” Peter shifts and leans his head on Tony’s shoulder. “Like, actually tired. Not just...existentially tired.”

“‘Existentially tired?’ Jesus Christ, kid. I thought I was melodramatic.”

“Where do you think I learned it?”

Tony smacks the side of his head. “I won’t dignify that with a response. Friday, put on the latest season of _Bake-Off._ ” 

“Of course, Boss.”

“This is gonna make me fall asleep, Mr. Stark,” Peter lifts his head and grumbles as the mellow tinkling of the theme song fills the garage. 

“That’s the point,” Tony cups the back of Peter’s head and pulls it back to his shoulder. He’d never seen this particular brand of electronic valium until one night not long after the Vulture incident, when May had dumped Peter at the Compound to go away for the weekend with some friends. Peter had turned it on while doing his homework, and they ended up wasting the entire weekend working through three seasons. 

Incidentally, that weekend was also the first time Peter had fallen asleep with his head pressed against Tony’s shoulder, and the first time Tony had realized he was in way too deep with a kid who was going to do his best to kill him.

“Did they keep making _Bake Off_?” Peter yawns again. 

“I don’t know, bud. I wasn’t really paying attention. More important things to worry about.” He ruffles Peter’s hair.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” Tony takes a swig of his beer and swallows hard. “I missed most of it. Makes it easier to pretend it didn’t happen.”

“Did anything happen? Like, anything big?”

“Well, your hot aunt almost murdered me, like, kitchen-knife-to-my-throat-almost-murdered-me.”

“That’s not big, Mr. Stark, that’s entirely expected.”

“And yet you continue to risk my life by following me around and risking your life.”

“You’d be lost without me.”

“Yeah, I was for awhile there,” Tony doesn’t have any other response, so he just gulps more beer and blinks his eyes hard, leaning his forehead against his hand. The beer bottle is cool and sweaty against his skin. They’d all been lost, caught in endless loops without the people they loved and retracing every footstep to figure out where they went wrong each time it all came crashing down.

“I-I missed you, too,” Peter sits up, pressing against Tony’s injured arm where it’s still around his shoulder. “Sorry, sorry,” he stammers when Tony hisses through his teeth. 

“Jesus, Pete, no, I--” Tony grunts as Peter lifts his arm off the back of the couch and tucks it against his side. 

“You should keep wearing your sling, like the doctor lady told you.”

“Christ, who’s the adult here, kid?”

“I’d say it’s about fifty-fifty, depending on the situation,” Peter lays his head back on Tony’s shoulder when he’s satisfied that his left arm is stable against his side. “Anything else happen?”

“Steve died, like, twice. I think I bit it a few times, too.”

“Fuck, Mr. Stark.”

“You know, I’m gonna get you a swear jar. After a few a days I can use it cover each upgrade in your suit,” Tony jerks his shoulder, bouncing the kid’s head. “Don’t know where the fuck you learned to swear like that, you little asshole.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Stark.”

“I think Aunt Hottie got into something with Rhodey.” Tony sets the half-full bottle on the table.

“I don’t need to know that, Mr. Stark.”

“You asked. And now neither of them remembers, obviously, but it’s still kind of in there. So, pay attention to them. It’s weird.”

“Thanks, I hate it.”

“Pep and I got married. Twice, I think,” Tony rubs his eyebrow. “Nothing big, quickies at City Hall before we rushed off to die again.”

“Nice,” Peter picks at the cuff of his shirt sleeve. “You’re gonna do it again, right? For real?”

“What, so you and Rhodey can make faces at me behind the altar?”

“You’re gonna let me on the altar, Mr. Stark?”

“We’ll see.”

“I think I heard her and May whispering about ‘colors’ in the kitchen, earlier. May was waving her hands around a lot.” Peter flicks his hands around in a lazily impression of his Aunt’s wild, Italian gesticulating.

“Oh god, I--Peter Benjamin!” Tony swats at Peter with his good arm as he lunges across his legs for the half-full beer bottle on the table. “No.” He grabs the bottle and downs the rest all at once, plunking it back on the table. “Take it if you want now, but all you’re gonna get is backwash.”

“You’re so gross, Mr. Stark,” Peter pouts and sinks back into the couch, his head settling back on Tony’s shoulder.

“Is that your stomach? Jesus Christ, you bottomless pit. You ate all day.” Tony pokes Peter’s side and he jumps slightly. “What happened to that spidey super-anxiety sense of yours? You didn’t know that was coming?”

“It’s still all weird and off. And we’re watching a show about cakes, Mr. Stark. It’s making me hungry.” 

“It’s supposed to be making you tired.”

“That too,” Peter yawns. “Thanks for telling me those things.”

“Quid pro quo, Clarice.”

“Why are you allowed to make pop-culture references?” 

“My house, my rules.”

Peter sighs. “I’ll tell you, I promise...just, not tonight.”

“Ok.” Tony gently knocks his head against Peter’s. He’s not gonna push and make the kid say things he’s not ready to say. _Break the shame cycle._ “Whenever you’re ready, itsy-bitsy,”

“Oh my god.”

“Did you have fun with your friends?” Tony crosses his legs on the table, sinking further back into the couch.

“Yeah, thank you for bringing them up. Even though I think they were more interested in watching the Avengers eat.” Peter pulls his legs off the coffee table and tucks them up on the couch. His bony knees press into the outside of Tony’s thigh.

“Not Scary Girl. Trust me kid, she was watching you the entire night.” 

“Her name is MJ, Mr. Stark.” 

“Nice deflection,” Tony knocks Peter’s head with his shoulder again. His arm burns. He’s going to have to go see Cho tomorrow, he knows. “Now shut up. I’m trying to watch these nice British people make those...things.”

“Hrmph. You started it.”

“Shhhhh!” Tony shushes him excessively, reaching over with his good arm to ruffle his hair again. They lapse into silence, and after a bit Tony feels his brain start to pleasantly shut off, the tranquilizer on the tv working beautifully. 

After a few more minutes, Tony glances down at Peter and sees he’s dozed off, mouth open and neck bent at an awkward angle. His face is relaxed in his sleep and he reminds Tony more of the overly excited fifteen-year-old he found in Queens than the weary seventeen-slash-twenty-one-year-old who stumbled out of a cloud of dust on Titan.

“Oh, Jesus,” Tony grunts and manages to reach behind himself, pulls a pillow from the back of the couch without jostling the kid too much. He puts it across his thighs then guides Peter down as best he can with only one fully-functional arm, settling his head on the pillow, lest he wake up with a wickedly sore neck. Peter mumbles and curls on his side a bit, then immediately settles back into sleep. 

Tony honestly doesn’t have the heart to wake him, knowing he hasn’t slept well in his bed. He gingerly lifts his left hand and settles it on Peter’s head. This was a comfort he discovered while waiting for Strange to bring them back from Titan, when Peter was busy vomiting and shaking in a stupor. It seemed to calm them both down, and while Pepper was able to convince Tony it wasn’t weird-- _“he’s your kid, Tony, even if he’s not”_ \--it’s one of the many things they don’t talk about, aside from complaining about messing up his already perpetually messy hair.

Tony feels himself drifting off to sleep when he hears the beep and hiss of the garage door opening. He pushes himself up slightly, and sees Pepper step inside.

“Hey, there you two are,” she gently shuts the glass door behind her, heading over to perch on the arm of the couch. “Everything alright?” She runs her fingers through Tony’s hair, strokes her thumb across his eyebrow.

“Peachy,” he leans up into her touch with a hum. Peter doesn’t stir.

“You sure, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” Tony shrugs and turns his head to kiss her palm. “Just loud.”

Pepper smiles knowingly, her eyes slightly sad. Tony knows she’s tired too; she doesn’t remember the way the team does, but she knows, and the knowledge is settled into her bones. “Is Peter ok?”

“Not really,” Tony moves his hand from his head to his shoulder. “He’s doing the best he can; he’ll get there.”

“He will, he’s got you,” Pepper leans down and presses a kiss to Tony’s forehead. She lingers a few moments and he savors it with his entire being, not willing to wonder for even a second where he’d be without her, how he wouldn’t have found the strength to keep trying without her there to push him, to remind him he could do it. That he was a hero and could fix this. 

“They still up there?”

“Yeah,” Pepper pushes her nose into his hair. “They’re a bunch of animals. And I think Steve and Bucky are making out in the coat closet right now.”

“I know. Another week I’m gonna bundle you three up and ship us all back to the City.”

“What about James and Happy?”

“They’re grown men, they’re on their own.”

“Hmmm,” Pepper kisses his forehead again. “I’m going to bed. You gonna stay down here?”

“Yeah, at least until he wakes up.”

“Good idea,” Pepper nods. “May told me he hasn’t been sleeping. And that she’s glad he’s got you.”

Tony hears what she’s saying, even if she doesn’t say it. They’d figured that trick out years ago. _Don’t overthink it. Enjoy it. It’s ok that you need each other._

“Don’t think I have much of a choice,” Tony makes a face. “He got his sticky hands on me and won’t let go.”

“Right,” Pepper laughs and flicks the side of his face. “Try and get some sleep, too.” She stands up and heads back to the door. “Love you, honey.”

“Love you, too.” Tony turns back to the TV when she’s gone, relishing the quiet. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Lordy do I love dialogue. Plot can suck it.
> 
> Hopefully the next one will be more fun.


End file.
